anxiety of his family and neighbours on his own account. He started early on a bright, frosty December morning: Gottfried went some way with him, and then turned back once more, half sorrowful, to his solitary hut. Nearly two months have passed away since Simon took leave of his kind host, and you can scarcely imagine anything more bleak, and cold, and desolate, than that wild mountain spot. Nothing but snow is to be seen everywhere, the frozen lake, the top of the pine-forest, and even the little châlet itself, are almost hidden, and the intense whiteness is quite dazzling to the eyes. It is the Ist of February, a day very dear to Gottfried, for it is his darling mother's birth-day; and as he sits watching the dying embers of his wood-fire, with the ood old Bernard stretched at his feet, e feels very sad and lonely. The thought of his home rises like a picture before his mind, for in those simple Swiss villages the birth-day of any loved member .# the family is treated quite like a festival. He thinks he sees the large old-fashioned room with its carved furniture, brightly lighted up, and the table covered with little gifts from André and Christine, and old friends of their family. He sees his gentle mother with her sweet, kind smile thanking her children, while her heart is full of anxious thoughts about her absent son. He sees his little sister dancing about with childish delight, as her mother admires the little presents she has prepared in secret, till her blue eyes fill with tears as André says sadly, “If Gottfried could only be with us!” Poor Gottfried he can hardly bear the thought of his home, as he sits there alone in his hut, till his eyes rest on the cross he had hung on the wall, and he remembers that there is One, who is ever with him, and breathes a silent prayer, that God, who had been his refuge and strength during so many weary hours, would not forsake him now. Then at first with a trembling

voice, but gaining strength as he went #. he sang the beautiful twenty-third

“The Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care,"

which he had learnt many years before at his mother's knee, but never before had so felt the full beauty of it. He had scarcely finished when the dog, who had seemed half asleep, suddenly started up, gave a quick, sha bark, and then remained perfectly still, with ears erect, as though listening for the sound which had #. him. Gottfried hearkened eagerly, but could hear nothing save the howling wind and the driving snow-storm. Presently the dog gave i. whine, and began moving restlessly from one side of the room to the other. His young master at first tried to quiet him, thinking that perhaps he had caught scent of wolves in the distance: "Down, Bernard lie still, old fellow,” he said, gently patting him. But the dog was not to be so appeased, and became more and more restless and impatient. At length the thought struck Gottfried, that perha some poor traveller might be near, who had lost his way, and was wandering about wildly in the snow-storm. It was impossible to rest when once such a thought had occurred to him, so, without a moment's hesitation, he seized his lantern, lighted it, and then raked together the embers of the fire lest it should go out before his return. Taking his long Alpine stick, and followed by his faithful dog, he went out bravely into the darkness. (To be concluded in our next.)

“Up, up !" cries the buzzing Bee,
“There's work for you as well as me;
Oh, how I prize the Morning hour,
Gathering sweets from the dewy flower!
Quick comes on the scorching Noon,
And darksome Night will follow soon;
Say, shall it chide for idle hours,
Time unimproved and wasted powers?"
Rhymes worth Remembering.

HE WooDLARK is very like its cousin, the Skylark, only it is smaller, has a shorter tail, and a light streak over the eye. Its song is not so loud a song as that of the Skylark, but it is so sweet and gentle, that some persons prefer its note, and think it even rivals the Nightingale. Like the Nightingale, it will often sing almost all through the hot summer nights. lt has the curious habit of fluttering to some branch of a tree, singing by fits and starts, and then, after uttering a few low notes, it darts from the

low bush, uttering its sweet, quiet song, then, springing suddenly into the air, it flies straight §§ as if it also were going to rival the Skylark in its lofty flight. But, after getting up about four or five feet, it slowly sinks down again on the spot from which it started, soon soaring up in the same manner with a fresh burst of music.

As it sings, the white feathers of its

eagerness to | ". forth its notes, and from this it has its name. The White-throat boldly matches itself against any other feathered songster, and has even been known to challenge the queen of the woods—the Nightingale ! At other times it turns mimic, and imitates the notes of other birds by which it is surrounded.

THE GOLDEN LILY OF ROUEN.

HE lily is the ancient crest of France, and Rouen is one of its most famous cities. It was in the year 1391 that Isabelle d'Obert bequeathed to the city of Rouen a small estate, the rents of which were to be applied every third year to give prizes to such youths as chose to compete with each other in poetry, painting, and sculpture. There were three prizes to be contended for. The first was for poetry, and consisted of a “golden lily” which was worth twenty sovereigns; the second was for painting, and consisted of a “golden violet,” value fifteen sovereigns; and the third, for sculpture, consisted of a “golden rose,” of the same value. The candidates were all to be lads under the age of twenty. The distribution of these prizes was always a fête-day at Rouen,_as by one accord business was suspended, and the houses decorated with flags, banners, and the like. A procession was formed of the clergy, a certain number of the burgesses of the town, with the mayor at their head, a chosen number of the maidens of the city, neatly attired, and a company of young men in gay dresses. The golden lily, the golden violet, and the golden rose, were carried on separate cushions; and the whole procession marched to the Cathedral, where, according to the custom of the country, the prizes were blessed. On one occasion among the man candidates for the honours of this festival was a youth, of poor but industrious parents, who had, from his earliest ears, exhibited an extraordinary talent. #. had a pious and affectionate mother, whose whole heart and soul seemed set on the future welfare of her son. He, on his part, returned her warm affection, and desired, more for her sake than for his own, to fulfil her hopes. He knew nothing of the world or its glories, and cared not for fame or the applause of men, but to make his mother happy,

to give pleasure to her in her failing years, and to give proofs of his affection for her, was his one and only aim. So it was that, having been inspired by two of these festivals, he determined

to become a candidate for one or more

of these prizes, and devoted himself to study those three branches of art to which honour was awarded. This youth's name was Marmontel, and he was not more than seven years old when he formed the noble design of distinguishing himself for his mother's sake. Poetry was his favourite study, but as he got older he saw that painting, sculpture, and eloquence, were sister arts, and he therefore applied himself to these with all his heart. Father Molossa, a priest, who saw his talent and industry, encouraged him, and byand-bye he was sent to the university of Toulouse. Here he soon began to distinguish himself in poetry and eloquence, and he carried off the prizes given for these studies; and it was soon after the obtaining of these prizes that he came home to his mother's little cottage near Rouen, just at the time of the festival. He was suddenly seized with the desire to compete for at least one of the three golden prizes; and, having obtained permission to present himself as a candidate, he spent three weeks in preparations, and in the mastering of the subjects chosen for the competition. Each competitor had to send in a poem, a painting, and a piece of sculpture or modelling. Marmontel had a taste for painting, and had already painted a #. representing the Greek maiden eeding her imprisoned father from her own breast. But he had never tried his hand at sculpture or modelling; he now determined to try, to make a model, and, after three weeks'hardwork, he produced the figure of a Sleeping Nymph, which he sent in to the judges, together with his poem on “Filial Affection” and his painting of the “Grecian Daughter.” †. long-looked-for day of award

father carrying the golden rose, his mother the golden lily, and Marmontel himself the golden violet.

From this hour Marmontel rose to fame and consequence; he became one of the best and sweetest writers of the times in which he lived, and was admired for the vigour and delicacy of his genius. In his latter days, like many who devote themselves to the good of their country instead of pandering to the vile passions of the age, Marmontel fell into poverty. He was, however, nominated as a legislator, and sent to the Electoral Assembly, and, in thanking his fellow-citizens for this mark of their respect, he said to them, “You behold, my friends, a body enfeebled by age; but the heart of an honest man never grows old !”

came at last. Three judges from Paris presided, and the chief magistrates and corporation of the city of Rouen were present in their robes. The hall, in the form of an amphitheatre, was filled with the chief citizens, and the students of the university were seated in the centre of the audience.

The compositions and the paintings were now formally submitted to the judges: there were twenty-five poems, thirteen paintings, and seven models in clay or marble. When the cyphers given in with the poems were examined by the judges, Marmontel was found to be the successful competitor for this prize, and a buzz of applause filled the hall.

Again the judges opened the cyphers, and again the name of Marmontel appeared as the successful competitor. His drawing plainly excelled those of his compeers. The applause was repeated, the judges looked astonished, and Marmontel himself could scarcely maintain his composure, for all eyes were fixed upon him.

A third time the cyphers were examined, and for the third time Marmontel was declared the victor. The whole assembly rose, hats were thrown up, scarfs were waved in the air, and a tumult of applause resounded from one end of the hall to the other. The youth nearly fainted.

In the midst of this triumph an aged man appeared at the lower end of the hall supporting a poor woman : they pressed through the crowd, which made way as soon as they heard the old man say, “It is my son!” and in a few moments mother, father, and son, were clasped in each other's arms.

The spectators honoured those who were not ashamed to show their love for each other. The judges from Paris, the mayor and magistrates, the priests and people, all, in the French fashion, saluted the successful Marmontel, who retired amid the applause of the assembly with his father and mother ; his

EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.—At first the men appointed as light-keepers were much alarmed by the fury of the waves during storms. The year after the light was exhibited, the sea raged so furiously that for twelve days together it dashed over the lighthouse, so that the men could not open the door of the lantern. In a letter addressed to Mr. Smeaton by the man who visited the rock after such a storm, he says, “ The house did shake as if a man had been up in a great tree. The old men were almost frightened out of their lives, wishing they had never seen the place, and cursing those that first persuaded them to go there. The fear seized them in the back, but rubbing them with oil of turpentine gave them relief.” Since then custom has altogether banished fear from the minds of the lighthouse keepers. The men became so attached to their home, that Mr. Smeaton mentions the case of one of them who was even accustomed to give up to his companions his turn for going on shore! - Lives of the Engineers.