Derval, who has, indeed, exerted himself to promote my comfort during the whole of this dismal, dreadful journey; and I ungratefully neglected to thank him for all his goodness; but I could not speak, and he looked so sad as we sat at table, that I scarcely ventured to look that way; and he, too, must leave me soon, and then I shall have no one to protect me."

"How can you talk thus, my child?" answered Katarina. "You-no one to protect you! You, the affianced bride of the handsome gentleman, who made all Bordeaux resound with praises of his liberality and benevolence; whose perfections were in everybody's mouth, old or young, rich or poor! You forget the happiness which awaits you. Think; you will not only be allied to an affectionate husband, whose sole desire will be to promote your happiness, but you will also enjoy the satisfaction of feeling that you are fulfilling your poor father's last wishes." Nathalie tried to think that her old nurse was right; and strove to listen with complacency to her glowing picture of the future, and force conviction on her troubled mind, and yet she could only answer with a sob, and, in spite of every effort, her tears flowed yet faster than before. At length, yielding to Katarina's persuasions, she betook herself to repose, and after a while soothing slumber cast its spell upon her weary eyelids.

For many a dreary hour did Katarina watch in careful tenderness by her bed-side ere she sought the couch which had been prepared for her in an inner apartment, and even then she would ever and anon steal back to gaze, in fond affection, upon her lovely charge, and assure herself of her tranquillity.

(To be continued.)

AUNT MARGARET.

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

LONG, ah! how long can it be
Since we first remember thee;
With thy step's familiar fall
Ever welcome to us all;
With thy voice so soft and clear,
With thy kind look, chasing fear ;
With thy holy influence

Boundless, yet without pretence;
With thy mild and quiet ways,
With thy love that crown'd the days
Of our happy childhood ;--yet
Love we thee, Aunt Margaret !

CAMBRIANA.

BY THE REV. ROBERT JONES.

No. I.-CADR IDRIS.

"It is

The land of beauty and of grandeur, lady,
Where looks the cottage out on a domain
The palace cannot boast of. Seas of lakes,
And hills of forests!

Torrents there

Are bounding floods! And there the tempest roams
At large, in all the terrors of his glory!"

"WHAT a lovely sky!" exclaimed Moreton, as we turned the angle of a road leading down to the picturesque little town of Barmouth, in North Wales, and came at once into a full view of the sunset's parting glories.

"It is," I replied, "a gorgeous scene, and yet destructive of our hopes for the morrow. That beautiful colouring is the harbinger of the storm."

My companions, a party of college friends, were incredulous. The morrow had long been set apart for our ascent to the summit of Cadr Idris, and a few successive fine days of September had removed every anticipation of unpropitious weather.

My fears were realized. The morning that followed was lowering and dark. Depth after depth of cloud in large masses rolled over the heavens, and the rain fell heavily and incessantly. The "mountain monarch," enfolded in a robe of mist, was no longer visible. Our intended excursion, we felt, must be given

up.

The traveller, unaccustomed to mountainous districts, will frequently be disappointed in his prognostics of the weather. To an experienced eye, however, the mountain affords the surest signs of a change. During a temporary lull of the storm, I rambled to the inn yard, and, to my surprise, found our guide preparing for the ascent. I was soon assured, by his manner rather than by his words, that, despite appearances, we had every prospect of a bright day before us.

Our preparations were soon made. Baskets of provision and wine, with plates, knives, forks, glasses, were brought together. The ponies that were to assist us up the mountain were conveyed to the opposite bank of the river in a boat, while we followed in

another. The docility of the little animals in stepping in and out, and their fearlessness on the rough water, would have almost tempted us to suppose they had been moving on their native element. Having crossed the river and disembarked, we were soon mounted, and pursuing our journey along the shorea hard sandy beach. We had proceeded but a few miles, when our route was intercepted by a chain of rocks that jutted into the The waves, dashing against their base, rebounded with a fearful whirl, while a shower of spray, lifting itself half way up the mountain, fell in foam on the struggling waters as far as the eye could reach.

Leaving the shore, and turning to the left, we skirted the base of the rock, whose rugged sides were covered with a forest of mingled pine and oak Crags of a fanciful shape, and wreathed with ivy, were interspersed among the trees, and frequently outtopping them; some forming fantastic gables on turrets, others towering aloft like crumbling spires. More frequently, however, they reminded us of some gray castellated ruin, over which time, to hide its desolations, had thrown a mantle of luxuriant foliage.

After winding around the foot of the mountain for some distance, we began our ascent where the wood was thick and sheltering. The aspect of the sky was still sombre and unpropitious, and the rain at intervals continued to fall heavily. An indifferent spectator would have smiled at our simplicity. We seemed like travellers bound to the regions of cloud and mist, rather than tourists preparing to view the bright scenery of a romantic land.

We found the ascent nowhere dangerous or difficult. We might have safely accomplished it without a guide, could we have threaded our way clear of the morasses that now and then lay hidden on the levels. Still, our journey was not without its fatigue. Enveloped in mist, and oftentimes clinging with all our might to the mane of our sure-footed little amblers, we were eternally creeping up, up, up. Our ascent seemed endless. After a toilsome effort we gained the brow of a lofty ridge that forms a portion of the Cadr range, congratulating ourselves upon the achievement of our task. But our triumph was short. Our guide, with a smile of good-natured mockery, came and wished us joy of having completed the half of our undertaking.

Some of us were in despair; but after stopping a short while to breathe on the level, and to regale our spirits with wine and biscuit, we again moved upwards. From this point our ascent became more gradual and easy, though less picturesque than before our route lying chiefly over heaths and barren moors, here and there intersected by rapid mountain torrents, swollen by

the rains. As we advanced into upper air our spirits seemed to imbibe the buoyancy of the atmosphere, and our fatigue to lessen. The rain, too, as the day advanced, altogether ceased; the clouds assumed a lighter hue, and, though impenetrable as ever to the eye, afforded some indications of a change.

When at last we had arrived within a short distance of the object of our ambition, we neared a precipice of vast extent, whose depth was lost in the clouds below. Our guide, who had provided himself with a hunting-horn, stood on its brink, and, bending downwards, blew a loud shrill blast, that contrasted strangely with the deep solitude of the mountain. The effect was electrical. A hundred echoes were aroused from a hundred different quarters, that vied with each other in the loudness and distinctness of their response, yet all uniting in one melodious harmony. Nor were they easily silenced. For many seconds after the horn had ceased, they continued reverberating brilliantly on the ear as the wind bore them fitfully along. They were the sweetest sounds in nature I had ever heard, reminding one of a concert of mountain spirits; and, if I except the "voice of many waters and of mighty thunderings," they were, at the same time, the most replete with grandeur.

The summit of the hill, a gashed, uneven cone, now stood before us, rising with an ascent more steep than any we had yet encountered. Large masses of jagged rock lay strewn in confused heaps on its side and around its base, seemingly rent and torn up by some mighty convulsive effort of nature. Their eingular shapes and position were, to all appearance, the result of volcanic agency; though the eruption, granting our conjecture to be correct, must have taken place in an antediluvian world. Their material, too, was of an imperishable kind; for, despite the bleakness of their situation and the lapse of centuries, they retained their original forms and lineaments as firmly as if they had been removed but yesterday.

Leaving our patient little animals tied to hooks fastened in one of these rocky fragments, we scrambled upwards, and stood at length on the crown of the giant Idris. One only have I ever known gallantly to mount that peak on a spirited palfrey-a bright-eyed maiden, gentle and kind, yet, when occasion required, of a noble and daring spirit. Blessings rest on her head.

But now that the mountain's top was gained, how were our anticipations to be fulfilled? Scenery there was none. Above, below, around, it was all cloud—thick, impenetrable cloudwith not a glimpse of blue sky, or of green earth, save what lay at our very feet. We were almost in despair again, when, reassured by our guide, we resolved to await the change that scemed gradually taking place in the atmosphere, and to console