N the banks of the Sambre, Claude fell in

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with a fair. There were shows of wild beasts, with horrid pictures painted outside, and the usual adjuncts of drinking-booths, cake-stalls, and pedlary. But what caught his eye almost immediately, was a canvas booth with a gaudy flag streaming from the top, and a placard hung outside, notifying that two of the wonderfullest, beautifullest, and remarkablest pigmy Albinos, from the Coast of Africa, were to be seen inside, for the low sum of three kreuzers. Claude thought he should like to see his little friends again, and judge by their looks how they were used; as Fritz's adherence to his vow had had now some weeks' trial. He therefore paid his money, value a

penny English, and entered the booth, which was lighted by a lamp from the centre, which threw its moderate effulgence on the performers, and left the audience in comparative obscurity. Philippa took the entrance-money, but as several were entering at the same time, she did not pay sufficient attention to Claude to recognise him. Fritz was trilling a wild, monotonous air on a pipe, and beating a little tabor with his feet, while the little Albinos were dancing and capering in the same style as Claude had seen them do by moonlight. They really seemed dancing for amusement; and when their performance was concluded, (it could not be expected to last very long for a penny,) Josepha sprang gaily into Fritz's arms, and he smoothed her flossy hair, and gave her a piece of gingerbread, which she immediately divided with Conrad, keeping the smallest half for herself. As Claude passed out, he spoke to Philippa, and said he was glad to see her charges look so well. She answered him cordially and cheerfully, and said that Fritz had been unwontedly good-humoured of late, which was perhaps partly owing to the children having drawn large audiences, as well as to Claude's intervention.

He proceeded on his way, and in due time entered and traversed France; "la belle France," its people call it, just as we speak of merry England; and as the Jews once loved to call their country,

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the pleasant land." To Claude, whose heart was now light, France did indeed appear very cheerful and beautiful; but the Alps were summoning him forward, and he hurried on with the more resolution because the weather, which had hitherto been fine, was beginning to break up, and cloudy skies were threatening heavy rains. Claude made more haste than good speed, for he over-taxed his strength, and was obliged to rest for some days. Then he resumed his journey, and began to climb the ridge that divided France from his native land, The weather was still inclement; and about half way up he met goatherds coming down, who told him snow had already fallen. They added that the pass, having partially frozen, was extremely slippery, and, as the day now verged towards noon, they advised him to proceed no further till the next morning, but pause in some shepherd's hut. A strong feeling of desire, however, urged him forward; on he went, therefore, with a light springing step, insensible of fatigue. The country he had

left lay mapped below him, its towns and villages shrunk to the dimensions of toys, its rivers wandering hither and thither like ribbons. It still glowed in the bright sunshine, but he was already entering the deep shadow of the mountain; and this dark shadow continued deepening and darkening and lengthening, and gradually stealing over the champaign he had left. Now the distant sunlight scarcely gilds the hill-tops: now it is quite gone. How gloomy has everything suddenly become! But Claude has neither leisure nor inclination to look behind him; he pushes right on, as if the avenger of blood were at his heels, or an immortal reward before him-alas! do those with an immortal reward before them, press on as he did? The path skirts a precipice of several hundred feet in depth; and at every step he dislodges small loose stones which fall over the brink, and splash in the unseen river far below.

But now a mountain mist begins to descend, and wrap him in its chilly mantle. What is worse, it thickens into a fog so dense that he becomes embarrassed and strays off the direct path. He is now following the track to some cowherd's châlet, as the steepness and uneven

ness of the ground plainly warn him, but he is perplexed how to regain the right path, and waits. By-and-by, the mist rolls off, and he dimly makes out his course and painfully retraces his steps; but the blackness of night is now drawing on, without moon or star. The path is now becoming extremely slippery, and he is approaching the region of snow, which seems to emit an uncertain sort of ghostly light.

Claude is now heartily sorry he did not take the goatherds' advice, and wait till the next day; but there is no help for it; he has lost precious time by straying from his path, but he must push forward.

Gradually the night became somewhat clearer, the snow whiter and whiter; but he was bewildered by it, and could not be sure of his bearings. Sometimes he stepped off the path into a hole, and plunged knee-deep in snow; at other times he stumbled over a concealed fragment of rock, and nearly fell. He now became oppressed by intense headache; and, from having long been unaccustomed to the glare of the snow, he saw what seemed like great drops of blood before him, whichever way he looked. Blundering