Humphrey ran away to the cottage as fast as he could; and as soon as he arrived, he called for Edward, who came out, and when Humphrey told him in few words what had happened, Edward went into the cottage again for some milk and some cake, while Humphrey put the pony into the cart.

In a few moments they were off again, and soon arrived at the pit-fall, where they found the lad still lying where Humphrey had left him. They soaked the cake in the milk, and as soon as it was soft, gave him some; after a time, he swallowed pretty freely, and was so much recovered as to be able to sit up. They then lifted him into the cart, and drove gently home to their cottage. "What do you think he is, Edward ?" said Humphrey.

"Some poor beggar lad, who has been crossing the forest."

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'No, not exactly: he appears to me to be one of the Zingaros or gipsies, as they call them: he is very dark, and has black eyes and white teeth, just like those I saw once near Arnwood, when I was out with Jacob. Jacob said, that no one knew where they came from, but that they were all over the country, and that they were great thieves, and told fortunes, and played all manner of tricks.' "Perhaps it may be so; I do not think that he can speak English.'

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"I am most thankful to Heaven that I chanced this morning to visit the pit-fall. Only suppose that I had found the poor boy starved and dead! I should have been very unhappy, and never should have had any pleasure in looking at the cows, as they would always have reminded me of such a melancholy accident,"

"Very true, Humphrey; but you have been saved that misfortune, and ought to be grateful to Heaven that such is the case. What shall we do with him now we have him?"

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Why, if he chooses to remain with us, he will be very useful in the cow-yard," said Humphrey.

"Of course," replied Edward, laughing, "as he was taken in the pit-fall, he must go into the yard with all the others who were captured in the same way."

Well, Edward, let us get him all right again first, and then we will see what is to be done with him; perhaps he will refuse to remain with us.'

As soon as they arrived at the cottage, they lifted the lad out of the cart, and carried him into Jacob's room, and laid him on the bed, for he was too weak to stand.

Alice and Edith, who were much surprised at the new visitor, and the way in which he had been caught, hastened to get some gruel ready for him. As soon as it was ready, they gave it to the boy, who then fell back on the bed with exhaustion, and was soon in a sound sleep. He slept soundly all that night; and the next morning, when he awoke, he appeared much better, although very hungry. This last complaint was easy to remedy, and then the lad got up and walked into the sitting-room.

"What's your name?" said Humphrey to the lad. 'Pablo," replied the lad.

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"Can you speak English ?"

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Yes, little," replied he.

"How did you happen to fall into the pit ?" "Not see hole."

"Are you a gipsy ?"

"Yes, Gitano-same thing."

Humphrey put a great many more questions to the lad, and elicited from him, in his imperfect English, the following particulars. That he was in company with several others of his race, going down to the sea-coast on one of their usual migrations, and that they had pitched their tents not far from the pit-fall. That during the night he had gone out to set some snares for rabbits, and going back to the tents, it being quite dark, he had fallen into the hole. That he had remained there three days and nights, having in vain attempted to get out. His mother was with the party of gipsies to which he belonged; but he had no father. He did not know where to follow the gang, as they had not said where they were going, farther than to the sea-coast. That it was no use looking for them; and that he did not care much about leaving them, as he was very unkindly treated. In reply to the question as to whether he would like to remain with them, and work with them on the farm, he replied, that he should like it very much if they would be kind to him, and not make him work too hard; that he would cook the dinner, and catch them rabbits and birds, and make a great many things.

Address to a Wild Deer.

PROFESSOR WILSON.

MAGNIFICENT creature! so stately and bright!
In the pride of thy spirit pursuing thy flight;
For what hath the child of the desert to dread,
Wafting up his own mountains that far beaming head;
Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale!-
Hail! king of the wild and the beautiful!-hail!
Hail! idol divine!-whom nature hath borne

O'er a hundred hill tops since the mists of the morn,
Whom the pilgrim lone wandering on mountain and moor,
As the vision glides by him, may blameless adore;
For the joy of the happy, the strength of the free,
Are spread in a garment of glory o'er thee,
Up! up to yon cliff! like a king to his throne!
O'er the black silent forest piled lofty and lone—
A throne which the eagle is glad to resign

Unto footsteps so fleet and so fearless as thine.

There the bright heather springs up in love of thy breast,
Lo! the clouds in the depths of the sky are at rest;

And the race of the wild winds is o'er on the hill
In the hush of the mountains, ye antlers, lie still!-
Though your branches now toss in the storm of delight
Like the arms of the pine on yon shelterless height,
One moment-thou bright apparition-delay!
Then melt o'er the crags, like the sun from the day.
His voyage is o'er-As if struck by a spell,
He motionless stands in the hush of the dell ;
There softly and slowly sinks down on his breast,
In the midst of his pastime enamour'd of rest.

A stream in a clear pool that endeth its race-
A dancing ray chain'd to one sunshiny place-
A cloud by the winds to calm solitude driven-
A hurricane dead in the silence of heaven.
Fit couch of repose for a pilgrim like thee:
Magnificent prison enclosing the free;

With rock wall-encircled-with precipice crown'd-
Which, awoke by the sun, thou canst clear at a bound.
'Mid the fern and the heather kind nature doth keep
One bright spot of green for her favourite's sleep;
And close to that covert, as clear to the skies,
When their blue depths are cloudless, a little lake lies,
Where the creature at rest can his image behold,

Looking up through the radiance, as bright and as bold.

Yes: fierce looks thy nature, e'en hush'd in repose—
In the depths of thy desert regardless of foes,
Thy bold antlers call on the hunter afar,
With a haughty defiance to come to the war.
No outrage is war to a creature like thee;
The bugle-horn fills thy wild spirit with glee,
As thou bearest thy neck on the wings of the wind,
And the laggardly gaze-hound is toiling behind.
In the beams of thy forehead, that glitter with death,
In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath,
In the wide raging torrent that lends thee its roar,-
In the cliff that once trod must be trodden no more,-
Thy trust-'mid the dangers that threaten thy reign:
-But what if the stag on the mountain be slain?
On the brink of the rock-lo! he standeth at bay,
Like a victor that falls at the close of the day-
While the hunter and hound in their terror retreat
From the death that is spurn'd from his furious feet ;—
And his last cry of anger comes back from the skies,
As Nature's fierce son in the wilderness dies.

Napoleon's Passage of the Alps.

ANONYMOUS.

THE Chief Consul had resolved upon conducting, in person, one of the most adventurous enterprises recorded in the history of war. The formation of the army of reserve at Dijon was a mere deceit. A numerous staff, indeed, assembled in that town; and the preparation of the munitions of war proceeded there and elsewhere with the utmost energy: but the troops collected at Dijon were few; and,-it being universally circulated and believed, that they were the force meant to re-establish the once glorious army of Italy, by marching to the head-quarters of Massena at Genoa,— the Austrians received the accounts of their numbers and appearance, not only with indifference but with derision. Buonaparte, meanwhile, had spent three months in recruiting his armies throughout the interior of France; and the troops, by means of which it was his purpose to change the face of affairs beyond the Alps, were already marching by different routes, each detachment in total ignorance of the other's destination, upon the territory of Switzerland. To that quarter Buonaparte had already sent forward Berthier, the most confidential of his military friends, and other officers of the highest skill, with orders to reconnoitre the various passes in the great Alpine chain, and make every other preparation for the movement, of which they alone were, as yet, in the secret. The statesmen who ventured, even after Brumaire, to oppose