To me it appeared perfectly inaccessible, and I told him so.

"Oh, no," he answered, "Monsieur will soon see that the path is not difficult, and, springing on a large stone, he placed one foot in a fissure of the rock, caught hold of a projection above, raised himself slightly, planted the other foot, again extended his arm, and still climbing for a few yards, paused at length to turn round, and ask me if I did not think it very easy? I could not exactly confess so much, so Monsieur Visinard descended to assist my progress, and, by dint of putting my feet in the proper crevices, and following his directions as to where I should place my hands, I succeeded in reaching the point which he had at first attained.

"What am I to do now?" said I, "the rock is quite smooth, and I am almost afraid to turn my head, lest, being unaccustomed to the height, I should grow giddy, and fall.”

"Do you see that twisted root over your head?-seize hold of it with your left hand, place one knee against the rock, and raise yourself till you can reach the branch above with your right hand, and then swing yourself up to the ledge, and the ascent is made ;—the rest is nothing."

These were instructions more easily given than followed, and it was not without hesitation that I prepared to obey them; for the prospect of swinging in mid air was not precisely one of the agrémens which I had promised myself in my morning's walk. However, there was no help for it; and, by the aid of Monsieur Visinard's strong arm, I managed to steady myself, and accomplished the ascent, infinitely to my satisfaction. The remainder of the route was comparatively easy, and in the course of about half an hour we reached the waterfall, where, seating ourselves on some large stones, we watched the foaming waters, as they "leaped with delirious bound" from the summit of a lofty cliff, and discoursed of Alpine customs and pursuits. The day wore on, and we began to think of returning, when, as I looked upwards to take a parting gaze at the noble waterfall, I fancied I saw a figure moving amongst the brushwood which grew in the rifts of the rocks, an immense height above where we stood.

Although Monsieur Visinard had prepared me, by the tales he told, for witnessing the risks which the mountaineers often run in their perilous excursions in pursuit of game, it was not without shuddering that I could behold what I fancied was a human being crawling along the face of an apparently perpendicular rock, with nothing to save him from destruction but the support of a few frail twigs. Fearing lest the sound of my voice should cause an accident, I laid my hand on Monsieur Visinard's arm, and in a low tone directed his attention to the object.

"There is surely some one creeping along that rock. What can he be in search of?"

Monsieur Visinard turned, and with his quick eye examined the rock in a moment.

"Yes," he replied, "I see a man's head above those juniper-bushes, within a few yards of the fall. It is not a hunter's track, though it may be practicable for one. Access to the waterfall can be obtained on that side; but there are not many even amongst the native-born who would care to venture that way."

"Let us wait and see who it is," I said. "He will probably show himself again."

A clump of birch which grew on the brink of the torrent effectually concealed us from being seen from above, while through the branches of the trees we commanded an excellent view of the fall.

"See," said Monsieur Visinard, after watching attentively for a few moments, "the figure is again in motion. There is a space almost bare, which, if he moves in that direction, he must pass, and then I shall be able to make out who and what he is, and probably what he is in search of."

We both fixed our eyes on the rock, and presently the dark outline of a human form was apparent, crouching on hands and knees, and crawling obliquely towards the fall.

'Mon Dieu !" exclaimed Monsieur Visinard, in a hurried whisper, "it is the Crétin !"

"The Crétin!" I returned. "Why, I thought he was at Villeneuve. Can he have come back so quickly?—and what brings him here?"

"Oh, he can move nimbly enough upon occasion, as what we see plainly shows; and, indeed, there has been plenty of time for him to return since we set out. But what object he can have in descending on that side I cannot tell; besides, he did not know he should find us here."

While we spoke, the creature continued to advance slowly along the rock, till he gained a narrow ledge, and stood upon his feet. It was but for a moment only; for before we could take note of him he had disappeared.

"Good God!" I exclaimed, "the poor wretch has fallen into the torrent!"

"Point du tout," replied Monsieur Visinard coolly; "there are always caverns behind these waterfalls, and the Crétin has discovered one here, though for what purpose he seeks it now I am at a loss to conjecture."

66

Is there any other mode of egress than the way in which he entered?" I asked.

"I imagine not," answered Monsieur Visinard; "for you see the rock on this side is quite perpendicular, and the spray driven against it must make its surface as slippery as ice."

"There is something about that creature," I observed, " which keeps him always in my thoughts; it may be his deformity and repulsive aspect; but the associations which his presence excites are always of a singular character."

Well, sir," inquired Monsieur Visinard, "are you willing to stay longer to see what becomes of him?"

"No, indeed," I replied; "for, after the great heat of the day, and the exertions I made to get here, I feel very chilly, and would gladly be in motion again."

"You shall return a different way, sir; and when we get home, if you will honour me by entering my cellar, I will beg of you to taste some of my vin d'Yvorne, the best in the country, of the vintage of 1825, that will warm your blood again, if anything can."

I cast one more glance at the waterfall; but the Crétin, if he was indeed behind it, did not make his appearance. We then plunged into the thicket, and, breasting the mountain pastures, found our

way back to Montreux, by the towers of the Château de Chatelard. As we passed the stable-door of the hotel I observed the Crétin, apparently very busy cleaning the harness of his mules. I looked at Monsieur Visinard interrogatively: he shrugged his shoulders in reply, and then gave me a nod, as much as to say he would return to the subject hereafter.

My host's wine did not belie the character he gave it, but the chill which I had caught in the valley was not to be dispelled by its aid; so I retired early to rest. The next morning found me suffering from a severe rheumatic attack, which confined me to bed for several days. In the meantime others were at work in connection with the catastrophe of Madame Van Helmont.

FLOWERS.

BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS! wherever ye bloom,

With your soft-tinted leaves, and your fragrant perfume;
Whether in Spring ye come forth from the ground,
Or when Autumn scatters her dead leaves around;
Whether in cottage or palace ye dwell,

Beautiful Flowers! I love ye well.

Behold a young girl, in her mirthful play,

Laughing the hours of childhood away,

The light winds are waving her sunny hair,

And her voice sounds sweet in the silent air.

While her fair hands are twining, from summer bowers,
Wild blooming wreaths of the beautiful Flowers.

The scene is now changed, for years have flown;
That gay laughing girl to a woman has grown ;
And the lover is there, who fain would tell
The secret their eyes have reveal'd too well!
But Flowers he plants in her snowy breast,
And their eloquent leaves have his love confest.

"Tis a bridal morn, and loudly swells

A merry peal from the old church-bells;
The white-rob'd bride is smiling now

'Neath a budding wreath from the orange-bough;
And bright-ey'd maidens before her strew
Beautiful Flowers, of every hue.

There's a voice of sorrow,-for time hath fled,—
A wife and a mother lies cold and dead;

They 've laid her to sleep in her endless rest,

With a young babe clasp'd to her marble breast;
And Flowers are there, with their perfum'd breath,
Decking the bud and the blossom in death.

In the green churchyard is a lonely spot,
Where the joyous sunshine enters not;
Deep in the gloom of the cypress' shade,

There is her home in the cold earth made,

And over her still the sweet flowrets bloom,

They were near her in life, and forsake not her tomb.

Beautiful Flowers! ye seem to be

Link'd in the fond ties of memory!

Companions ye were to our childhood's day,

Companions ye are to our lifeless clay;

And barren and drear were this wide world of ours,

Lacking the smile of the beautiful Flowers!

FREDERICA EMILIE D.

THE sun, with his face all ruddy red,
Had made up his mind to go to bed;

For he'd had enough, as he very well knew,
Of the sweetest potation, the mountain dew;
And fearing, like drunkards, an unpleasant dream,
He slaked his thirst with a neighbouring stream,
And shook his cloud-bed in the cozy West.
The shadows stretch'd long as he sank to rest;
His bed-curtains waved with a ruddy glow,
As they blush'd at the red of his face below;

And, dreading the night-dews might give him a cold,
He popp'd his nose under the sheets of gold;
A mountain extinguisher put out his light,
And he quietly tuck'd himself in for the night.
A convent there stood, all embower'd in trees,

Where holy men ate, drank, and slept at their ease.
The vesper bell swell'd on the evening air,
Calling the good and the bad to prayer;

There a lone man sat,

Without any hat,

At an oriel window, with dark troubled face, His form it was noble, his beard it was black,

And, to cool his bold forehead, his cowl was thrown back, And the sun's last rays fell on a very bald place.

'Twas the Prior who sat

Without any hat,

Thinking of love, and such nonsense as that.
A castle stood on a hill just by,

Upon which he constantly turn'd his eye;
For dwelt she,

The Lady that he

Loved to such an immoderate degree,
Though the wife of another,
That didn't bother

A man of such eminent piety.
A wife she was, and that's the truth,
The playmate of his early youth,
But married to his frère Sir Hugh,
Who'd been her constant playmate too,
Who first into this world of sin
Had come, although the Prior's twin;
Therefore the castle and the land
Had influenced the lady's hand;
For the one was poor, the other rich,
Or else it wouldn't have matter'd which;
As daily more alike they grew,
Their mother even hardly knew

The difference between them;
For, as they did each other pass,
'Twas like reflection in a glass,

As all had said who'd seen them.
And, when to manhood they had grown,
Sir Hugh had call'd Amile his own.
The younger brother turn'd devout,
And coolly kick'd his passions out.

Years roll'd on, and the lady fair
Had fail'd to give the lands an heir.
Sir Hugh got glum, and moped about,
And in the habit of staying out;

But his lady was mild as unskimm'd milk,
And she quietly sorted her worsted and silk,
As she sat with her maidens round a frame;
Her grandma and mother had done the same.
Indeed, the family had much fame

For working grim murders in tapestrie,
And handing them down to posteritie.

Sir Hugh walk'd up, and Sir Hugh walk'd down,
And ever was seen on his brow a frown;
He bit his lip, and his cheek grew pale,
As his eye wander'd over his coat of mail,