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COM

YOME, DAVIE, do promise me that you will come out this evening. We are going to have a first rate time to-night. Engine Company No. 5 has engaged the Brass Band, and is going to march round the city with torches. Jack Ring, Bob Bluster, Tom Tweedle and Will Wontdoright are all coming out; and you must come too."

"No, MARK, I can't come out to-night; I'm engaged to be at home," replied David, a blue-eyed boy with a lithe, genteel form, and very intellectual expression.

"That's what you always say, Davie. But I should think you might come out for once. The boys won't like you if you don't;' " answered Mark, who was a short boy, with keen, dark eyes, and a well rounded form.

"I don't see what right the boys have to dislike me for staying in the house, Mark. Suppose I were to say I should dislike them for going out. Wouldn't they tell me it is none of my business?"

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"I suppose they would, Davie. They ought not to dislike you for doing what you prefer. But you know they like your company very much, and they can't see why you should be so very strict in staying in every night. If you would only join us once in a while, they would be satisfied." Ah, Mark, I'm afraid of that once in a while. If I begin to spend my evenings in the street, I shall break up my present habit of spending them at home, which is a good one, and I should soon form the habit of spending them in the street, which is a very bad one. You know if I don't begin, I can't go on.

"That's true, Davie. But I don't ask you to come out every night; but only to-night. Come, Davie, now; do come, there's a good fellow. We shall have a nice time, and no mistake about it." This was said in a very coaxing tone and manner.

other day about a thorn If a man gets caught by

"No, Mark, I cannot consent. I read the which grows in Africa. It has very sharp points. it, he finds it hard work to get away with the clothes on his back. For when he tries to unhook one part of his dress, he is caught in another. Every new attempt to get clear, only hooks him more firmly; until, scratched and ragged, he escapes in a pitiful plight. The people call this thorn, "Stop awhile." Now I fear, if I begin to come out at night, I shall get hooked by one pleasing game or another, until my habit of spending my evenings at home will be torn off my back. must excuse me. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Davie.”

So, dear Mark, you

Davie ran home after this interview, with a light step and a merry heart. He had resisted a temptation. He had conquered himself, for he really desired to see the engine company's procession. But he knew the danger of beginning to do evil, and therefore he had said "No," to the very earnest entreaties of his friend Mark.

Davie eat his supper at dusk with a good appetite, and then taking his lamp, he retired to a little room at the end of the parlor, which his kind and thoughtful father had fitted up as a study. Seating himself at the table, he took up a volume of history which he had been reading, and soon forgot all about Mark, engine company, processions, and everything of that kind. In fact, the hours sped so rapidly, that when the bell rung at nine o'clock, he started up with surprise, and exclaimed:

"What! nine o'clock already? Dear me, how swiftly the evening has gone!"

This was not the first time that Davie learned that busy hours are short, and that happy moments fly swiftly away.

The next morning, Davie was at school at an early hour and with a cheerful face. Mark was there too. But his looks were downcast, and

his manner sad. School had not begun, so Davie said to him:

Mark, what is the matter? Did you have that good time last night?" Mark looked up at Davie with a frowning brow. He was in very ill humor, and bore marks of rough usage in his face.

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"No," he said, we didn't have a good time. Jack Ring and Bob Bluster got into a wrangle. Tom Tweedle and I interfered, and then Jack Ring hit me and gave me this black eye. Bob Bluster gave Tom Tweedle such a kick that he's sick this morning, and can't come to school."

66 Then you didn't see the torch light procession after all, did you?" "Oh! yes; we walked all round town with it, and I expect we got so tired, we were ready to quarrel with anybody; and that's why the boys got so mad with each other."

"Well, Mark, I hope you will take my advice, and not go out evenings. I enjoyed myself at home finely. I quarreled with no one; I neither suffered harm myself, nor did harm to any one else. And what is better still, I added several new facts to my stock of knowledge. I don't see that I could have done better, had I followed your advice." Mark admitted that Davie's way was better than his. He said he would adopt it himself, but I believe he never did. His habit was too strong to be easily broken off. It was too much like Davie's thorn to be readily escaped. He soon forgot his black eye, and was seen, and heard too, night after night, with a gang of idlers at the corners of the street.

I hope my boy readers will all take my friend David for their model. The practice of street roaming at night is one of the very worst habits a boy can fall into. It teaches him to waste his time, to neglect his studies, to form evil associations, and to corrupt his heart. While he who, like David, improves his evenings by pleasant studies at home, escapes much evil, grows wiser, better, and happier. All honor, then, to the lads who tread in the steps of diligent David.

F. F.

PRECIOUS FRIENDS. The French proverb says, "To father, teacher, and God all-sufficient, none can render equivalent." despises all three. Is n't wickedness an ugly thing?

Yet a bad child

Τ

IT is a terrible thing to be lost among the drifting snows of the Alps; and yet I suppose there is not a winter passes in which more or less of the daring Swiss adventurers do not perish in this manner. I recollect, while climbing the great Saint Bernard, to have heard a thrilling story from our guide, about a chamois hunter who was lost within a mile of the pathway by which we ascended to the monastery at the summit of the Saint Bernard. Let me tell you the story, if my memory will assist me.

Very

It was a clear, though cold morning in the autumn, when one of the citizens of the quiet little village of Martigny started up the slope of the mountain, with his gun and his alpenstock, to hunt for the chamois. likely you have never seen this animal. Though he is common among the Alps, he is rarely seen in this country. I wish you could see him, however. He is a beautiful fellow. I fell in love with him, the very first time I met with him among the Swiss mountains. I wonder how anybody can have the heart to shoot a chamois. But chamois hunters are almost as plenty in Switzerland as the pretty little animals themselves.

The chamois is built something like a tame goat. He is slighter, though, and has a longer neck and limbs. His horns are very pretty. They are of a jet black, and rise in parallel lines from the head to the point where they curve over. They neither incline backward nor outward, but rising straight out of the head, seemed to project forward, while their parallel position gives them a very imposing appearance. They are as black as ebony, and some of them bend in as true an arch as if turned by the most

skillful hand.

One of the objects of interest which I brought home with me from the vale of Chamouni, under the very shadow of Mont Blanc, was a walking stick, with a chamois horn for a handle. I will show it to you, should you ever make me a call.

But the hoofs of the chamois are as curious as his horns. They are hollow, and almost as hard as flint. The edges are sharp, and will catch upon a rock where a claw would give way. The chamois, provided as he is with such curious hoofs, will leap over wide chasms, to a narrow ledge of rock, on which you would think he could not stand. He flings himself from rock to rock in the most reckless manner, relying solely on his sharp hoof for safety.

The chamois mother is extremely affectionate to her young, and will always hazard her own life for their safety, when any danger is near. But while describing the chamois, I must not forget my story about the chamois hunter. Early in the morning, as I said before, the hunter left the little village of Martigny, to hunt for the chamois. He kneeled before the image of the Virgin, in the little church, and prayed to her, as the ignorant Swiss are accustomed to do, to shield him from harm, and to grant him success in hunting. Then he cheerfully took leave of his wife and family, whistled for his dog, and set out. He should return before dark, he shouted, as he briskly began the ascent.

But, alas! he did not return. That day, until night-fall, and the following day, and many more, that family watched anxiously, tearfully, prayerfully, for the poor hunter. But he came not. The villagers kindly searched for him, though their search was vain. A storm of snow set in while the hunter was on the mountain, and those who loved him best at length saw too clearly that he was lost.

The monks in the hospice at the summit of the mountain, as you have no doubt heard, make it almost their sole business to hunt for such persons as are lost in the snow. They frequently, by the aid of dogs trained for the purpose, rescue those who would otherwise perish; and more frequently too, perhaps, they find the bodies of such as are frozen to death. The dogs of St. Bernard, when they go out on their humane errands with their masters, carry a bottle of wine or brandy around their necks, for the use of those who are perishing. It sometimes happens that one of these dogs will find an unfortunate person dying of the cold, and before his master comes, will warm the poor sufferer with his body, and perhaps, by repeated efforts, induce them to partake of the cordial suspended from his neck. The monks are extremely watchful at periods when there is most danger from the