MOUNT BLANC, one of the summits of the Alps, is the highest mountain in Europe, being fifteen thousand feet above the Mediterranean Sea, and twelve thousand above the valley of the Chamouny. It receives its name from the immense mantle of snow which envelops it for many hundred feet, without the least object to interrupt its glaring whiteness. The very few travellers, who have ascended this lofty elevation, describe the sky above as of a dark-blue color, bordering upon black. The fantastic forms of glaciers, which resemble a stormy sea suddenly congealed and bristling all over with sharp ridges, increase the effect of this wonderful spectacle. Here is beheld a world of ice, extending far beyond the point where the straining eye vainly seeks to follow the interminable frozen leagues of glaciers, propped by towering pyramids and shapeless heaps, or opening into yawning gulfs and unfathomable fissures.

Avalanches, which often occur in these regions, consist of large masses of snow, producing great damage by their sudden fall from the mountains.

One kind of avalanche is caused by the wind, which carries along vast quantities of newly-fallen snow, and throws it in the form of dust into the valleys. This would be exceedingly dangerous were it not for the lightness of the material, so light, indeed, that persons

thus overwhelmed have been known to survive for twenty-four hours without being smothered.

The thunder avalanches are not blown off by the wind, but, during the spring, fall by their own weight, bringing along with them earth, rocks, trees, and sometimes entire forests, causing wide-spread devastation, and making mountain and valley to quake. In 1801 a portion of these mountains slid down at once into the lake below, causing a wave to rise with such velocity as to drown eleven men on the opposite shore.

From these mountains flow numerous cascades. One of the more celebrated is produced by a small torrent, which descends eight hundred feet into a rocky cleft. The water is not only broken into foam by the fall, but is completely dashed into vapor before it reaches the bottom.

On the whole, this Alpine scenery affords the most striking contrasts. Icy peaks rise from the very borders of fertile valleys, and, in a single step, the traveller passes from the freshest verdure and most luxuriant cornfields, to regions of everlasting snow.

"And fearless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost,
Perfume the air and fill the hills with praise."

MY FATHER.

My father raised his trembling hand,

And laid it on my head:

"God bless thee, O my son, my son !"

Most tenderly he said.

He died, and left no gems or gold,

But still I was his heir

For that rich blessing which he gave
Became a fortune rare.

Still, in my weary hours of toil

To earn my daily bread,
It gladdens me in thought to feel
His hand upon my head.

Though infant tongues to me have said

"Dear father!" oft since then,

Yet when I bring that scene to mind,
I'm but a child again.

THE CASCADE OF THE PILGRIMS.

BY REV. J. W. WARD.

THE Cascade des Pèlerins, or Falls of the Pilgrims, is one of the most beautiful and unique of the many waterfalls that aid in diversifying the mountainous scenery of Switzerland. It is only about a half-hour's walk from the little village that lies on the bosom of the pleasant vale of Chamouny. But though it is so near the village, and singularly beautiful, and perfectly easy of access, it has been seldom visited by travellers, and still more seldom mentioned in the accounts they have given of their wanderings among the Alps. The Cascade is formed by a stream of cold, pure water, which flows from the Glacier du Pèlerin on the side of Mount Blanc. The water of the stream, descending with great velocity and force through a channel, nearly vertical, worn in the solid stone, is poured into an immense rocky basin, which has been formed by the action of the waters, at a point somewhat less than half way down the entire descent of the Cascade. Falling with such prodigious force into the basin, in passing over its forward edge, the water takes an outward and upward direction, and, assuming the form of a parabolic arch, descends, the remainder of the distance, in a white sheet of spray, which, to the eye of the beholder, appears indescribably beautiful and picturesque. A part of the scenery around is exceedingly lovely, while another part is magnificently grand. Below you is the sweet vale of Chamouny, with its meandering Arve; but,

Above you are the Alps,

The palaces of nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned eternity in icy halls

Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The Avalanche - the thunderbolt of snow!

All that expands the spirit, yet appals,

Gather around these summits, as to show

How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below."

To perform quietly the duties of to-day, without ambition or anxiety, is to ensure comfort; and comfort is a word that suits the present state better than happiness.