It was a lovely autumn day in September. The sun shone bright. The gentle cool breeze went sighing through the leaves of the trees, as if whispering to each, -"The summer is gone; it is time to fall." There was a long cavalcade moving slowly down the mountain-side. They came from the rich green pastures. All the long summer had they been living up there, enjoying the fertile grass, and the beautiful flowers, which live near the snow. And now it was time to come down to the valley; for winter, cold winter with its ice and frost was fast setting in.

And what was this cavalcade? First came the impudent goats, frisking and jumping about. Then came the demure inquisitive cows, wondering what they were going to see next. Then came the meek quiet sheep, snatching a mouthful of grass by the way, as they trotted along. Last of all, came the herdsmen and their dogs. The path was narrow, and very steep; how slowly and carefully they came!

But, what was that loud noise up above? All stop. All eyes turn round. Again! what was that loud rumbling? Is it thunder? No, there are no black clouds; the sky is clear and blue. But there! see the towering mountain behind! A huge mass of it is trembling! Now it quivers! now it poises! Now it falls! Oh, what a thunder

ing crash! It has covered all the rich green pastures! The hills all around far and near, re-echo the roar. The goats, and the cows, and the sheep, and the dogs,—all take to their heels; scamper they gallop down the mountain side; what a rush! and never stop till they are safe at the bottom. And the rich green pastures are covered with rocks, and stones, and rubbish! No more flowers will grow there now. What will the goats, and the cows, and the sheep do next summer?

And what else had the avalanche done? Ah! had you been in the village that evening, you would have seen a new-widowed mother weeping over her lonely fire; and five or six fatherless children, crying,"Mother, where is father? The night is coming on; why does he not come home?" Alas! poor little things; their father lay buried deep under the avalanche. He was not in that cavalcade. He had been left behind in the rich green pastures, to close up the huts for the winter. The mountain had fallen upon him! He was buried in its ruins! They searched for him; but he could not be found. Months passed on; cold months! the poor widow still mourned; and the poor children still looked sad.

It was Christmas-eve of that same winter. The wind blew sharper now; it had dispersed all the leaves from off the trees. The snow

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lay thick on the ground. The villagers of Avers were spending their Christmas pleasantly. Fires burned up brightly; cheerful faces surrounded them. What they were talking of, I do not know. But when it was quite dark, and whilst all were enjoying themselves, a slight tap was heard at the door of one of the houses. The people of Avers believed in ghosts. They started when they heard the knock; I do not know why; but they thought it was a ghost. Talking ceased; faces became pale; some thought that the fire burned blue. sently the knock sounded again, and a weak voice begged to be admitted. But no one dared to move. However, the door was not bolted; the latch slowly rose, the door gradually opened, and there stood before them an apparition of a figure, haggard and pale. His rags scarcely covered him; his hair hung dishevelled down his shoulders; he looked like a being just risen out of the tomb. What was he? They did not know. They thought he was a ghost. So they all rushed out at the back-door, to hide themselves where they could!

One hour afterwards you might have seen the same room full of people,-all the village was in; and the fire was burning brightly and the figure they thought the ghost was lying beside it. And his widow was weeping with joy, and his children were laughing with delight;-it was the man who

was buried under the mountain! But how had he come to life again?-He was never dead! Where had he been then, those long three months?-Buried in the ground; and had never died? Yes! How was it, then? This is his story :-When he was in the hut, and the mountain fell, he was suddenly enveloped in darkness; he heard the roar above his head, and was almost stunned, but knew not what had taken place. After all was quiet, he groped about in the dark, and could find no outlet. The thought flashed across his mind, that he was buried alive! However, he prayed to God that he might even yet be preserved, and he set to work to examine his position. The hut was full of cheeses! which were the result of the summer's work. These he ate, and lived upon. The wet trickled down through the soil above, and this he drank. Every day, he worked away with a piece of wood, to make his way out; and at last he caught a gleam of open day! Oh! how rejoiced he was! And on he worked, harder and harder, till on Christmas-eve, after three months' imprisonment, he found himself above-ground, and away he ran down the mountain to his friends, who thought he was a ghost! As if there were ever such a thing as a ghost!— And how was it that his hut had not been destroyed? Most providentially, two great rocks in their fall had formed an arch over it! and thus nothing could hurt him. So ends my Christmas story.

It is wonderful, is it not? And I can assure you it is also true. But what an idea it gives us of God's providence, and God's great power! which can arrest and adjust the falling masses of a precipice, in order to save a man's life!

CHINESE WATCHES.

C.

ONE fine morning in September last, I went very early with a large party to see some beautiful valley scenery. We had to ascend the Jura Mountains, which divide Switzerland from France. They are very fine, but the side is so steep, that you would wonder how a carriage-road could be got up. But the

Swiss are very clever in these matters, and construct a road in such a place, in a zigzag form like a corkscrew; so that you come down and go up scarcely with any hill. It makes the way longer, but then all is easy and safe, and you do not care for the length. There are wolves and bears in the woods and rocks of the Jura, but I did not see any. They only come out in long winters, and hard frost, when hunger makes them. And then they are very savage, and will attack men as well as cattle. When we got to the top of the Jura, which is about 4,000, feet high, we came to the little town of St. Croix, where they are nearly all watchmakers. They send large quantities of watches, and musical-boxes, to every part of the world. Just above this town, a