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he had not taken pains and laid in a stock, as they had done.

"Alas! gentlemen," says he, "I passed away my time merrily and pleasantly, in drinking, singing, and dancing, and never thought of winter." "If that be the case," replied the ant, "all I have to say is, that they who drink, sing, and dance, in the summer, must starve in the winter."

MORAL.

Who pleasures love
Shall beggars prove.

VIRTUE INDISPENSABLE.

Ir good we plant not, vice will fill the mind,
And weeds take up the space for flowers design'd,
The human heart ne'er knows a state of rest,
Bad tends to worse, and better leads to best.
We either gain or lose; we sink or rise,
Nor rests our struggling nature till it dies;
Those very passions that our peace invade,
If rightly pointed, blessings may be made.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
ERE sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care,
The opening bud to heaven convey'd,
And bade it blossom there.

THE PEASANT OF THE ALPS.

THE Alps are the highest mountains in Europe. They extend towards the north from the Mediterranean Sea, and separate Piedmont and Savoy from the adjacent countries; whence, stretching out their course to the east, they form a boundary between Switzerland and Italy, and terminate near the extremity of the Adriatic Sea, northeast of Venice.

Romantic views and situations abound in these mountains, and draw the attention of visitors from distant countries. The tops of many of them are lost in the clouds, and covered with perpetual snow. When the warm rays of the sun melt the surface of the snow, the water rushes in torrents down the craggy sides of the mountains, forming beautiful cascades. The hollow spaces that lie between the rugged summits are valleys, though raised at a vast distance above the level country.

On some of the gentle declivities are found the glaciers, which are prodigious fields of ice, resembling a frozen sea, frequently extending many miles. They are separated by wild forests, corn fields, rich meadows, and cheerful villages.

An English traveller, who was crossing these Alps, was once overtaken by the approach of night, and obliged to seek shelter among the peasants, who inhab

ited a small hamlet, overhung with the most fantastic rocks, and watered by a mountain torrent. He approached a venerable` old man, with a long white beard, observing the rich tints of the declining sun, as he was sitting at the door of a cottage, surrounded by a group of lovely children, who were playing near him with the greatest marks of affection.

One stole a kiss, whilst another climbed his back, and a curly-headed chubby boy sat upon his knee; the old man smiled tenderly upon them, and seemed to take pleasure in their artless gambols. On perceiving a stranger, he arose, and in the most hospitable manner, offered him the best accommodations his cottage could afford. The traveller made no refusal, but seated himself familiarly by the side of his aged host, and began to converse on the occupations and modes of life of these contented mountaineers.

Whilst they were talking, a girl neatly dressed in a jacket and petticoat, with her hair confined in a silk net, prepared their supper on a table abroad. The repast was simple, but inviting. It consisted of bread, fruit, cheese, and bowls of cream. The master of the house entertained the stranger with a hearty welcome; and when supper was ended, amused him by relating the principal events of his life.

"I have passed," said he, "my whole life in this village, and am the oldest man in it. My neighbors regard me with wonder, as I am the only survivor of my family, except these little ones, who are growing up to fill the places of those who are gone, most of whom have fallen in the dangerous pursuit of the chamois

goat." Here he drew the back of his hand across his eyes.

"My father was lost in one of the deep fissures of a glacier, when I was but a boy. The accident did not deter me from pursuing the same occupation. I was very successful in the chase, and supported my family comfortably, though often at the price of excessive fatigue and danger. At twenty, I married a neighbor's daughter, whose modesty and good nature won my heart. We were blessed with several children, and passed our lives happily, till we were bereft of our eldest son, a promising youth, who, led by the love of military glory, enlisted as a soldier in the emperor's service, and was killed by a random shot at a siege.

"My poor wife never held up her head afterwards, but gradually sunk into a declining state of health, which ended her life. My second boy, the father of these children, married a virtuous young woman, who was as affectionate to me, as if she had been my own. After my wife's death, they insisted on our living together; I once more had a prospect of being happy.

"But alas, Sir!" continued the old man, "the pleasures of this life are liable to many interruptions. My son had accompanied me to the chase from a youth; ardently fond of the pursuit, he was the boldest hunter of our village. He was accustomed to set out in the night, for the sake of reaching the most elevated pastures, where the goats feed, before they got there.

After surveying the place with a glass, to enable him to discern his prey at a distance, if he was so fortunate as to perceive any, he would climb from crag to crag,

till he got above it, then fix his carabine, and so successful was his aim, that he seldom missed. Having killed the chamois, he would throw it across his shoulders, and often, thus loaded, would he pass over the most frightful precipices, to feast us with the flesh. Every new enterprise rendered him more adventurous. With no other supply of food than a bit of cheese, and a piece of dry oaten bread, which he carried in a bag, would he often pursue the herds of chamois, to heights, that by most men would be thought inaccessible.

"When two or three of these animals are feeding together, the difficulty of getting near them is increased; for one of the flock takes his station as sentinel, on the top of some high rock, and gives notice, by a hissing noise, to his companions, of the approach of the hunter; then they bound with excessive swiftness among the glaciers, through the snows, and over the most dreadful precipices.

"My poor son, regardless of danger, would follow wherever they led. Often did he pursue them over the deep snows, without considering the horrid chasms they conceal, and entangle himself amongst the most dangerous paths, and spring from rock to rock, without knowing how he was to return. He was as insensible to fatigue as to danger. How many miserable nights of expectation have his dear wife and I passed together, when his eagerness in the chase has detained him in one of these alarming enterprises.

"When no longer able to pursue his game, from the obscurity of the night, he used to place himself at the

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