City of the Sea. I have much to say of my adventures, for in a short space of time I have seen a vast deal; but my purport now is to relate a scene which I witnessed when passing a short time amongst the lovely hills and vallies of Switzerland.

It was a beautiful evening in August as I walked along the banks of the lake near Montreux, where the sight of the snow-crowned Alps, which were only separated from me by the clear water at my feet, brought to my mind the wonderful works of that Supreme Power which created these magnificent objects. Every work of nature immediately around me was clad in the warm hue of summer, from the loftiest pine to the lowliest flower which inhabit these mountainous regions. There was a small boat on the lake, and from time to time the voices of the fishermen were returned distinctly by the echoes of the hills. As I walked on, solitary and pensive, a little boy between the age of ten and eleven suddenly stood before his figure was taller than that of most children of his age, though the uncommon youthfulness of his manner belied his height. His step was light, though his countenance was, at the first moment in which I beheld him, very much agitated-his cheeks being wet with tears, though a smile of delight played upon his lips; his eyes were dark and spirited, though at the present dimmed by the tears he had shed-he was close beside me, before he had remarked that a stranger was near him, but instantly taking off his cap from his noble brow, he bowed low, and then would have passed on without speaking; but after returning his salutation, I stopped to question him about a village which I saw near to us.

me;

"What do you call this lovely place, my boy," I said, "and by whom are these glorious scenes inhabited by those who love their God, or by those who know him not?"

than the

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"We call it Montreux, Monsieur," replied the boy; "but our village is more blessed than almost any other in the mountains, for the same God who guided our fathers in olden times still protects his children now, and we are taught to know and love him."

I was pleased with this answer, and next enquired the cause of the tears which I had marked on his cheek. "Are they tears of joy or sorrow, my young friend?" I asked.

Joy, all joy, Monsieur," he replied, (his countenance at once brightening up as a fine landscape when a cloud has passed away) "for our Rosèe today has owned that she is our sister; indeed, she will be joined to us this evening, never to be parted again from us, no, not even by death."

"Rosèe," I repeated, "and who is Rosèe?"

"Have you not heard of our Rosèe, Monsieur," said the boy, fixing his dark eyes upon me, "of our own Rosèe, the Rosèe of the Mountains, as she is called?"

"No," I replied, "no, indeed, old as I am, my dear boy, your sweet sister Rosèe is a stranger to me, though I must confess I long much to see the little damsel who is worthy of being called the Rosèe of the Mountains."

"You must come then to our cottage, Monsieur, and then you shall see our Rosèe," he replied. "But, Sir, she is not our own sister, though her father was brother to mine, but we all love her as much as we do Nannette. Rosèe was very, very young indeed when she left our own sweet Montreux, and went to France with her mother. A lovely little girl was our Rosèe then, Monsieur, she would never answer angrily, but the tears would fall gently from her soft eyes if we spoke harshly to her; but they took her to France, and kept her there many years, and there they taught