passed the first memorable night. When we were on the summit of the Dôme, we distinguished something black, moving on L'Aiguille du Gôuter, which we took at first to be chamois, but which proved to be two more guides, Pierre Balmat and Marie Coulet, who had chosen to try that side, under the idea that the ascent was there more practicable. As they begged us to wait till they could join us, I thought, by way of not losing time, that I would see how far it was possible to cross the narrow ridge which unites the Dôme to the summit of Mont-Blanc. There was only one way of advancing on it, and this was by striding across it, as if I were on horseback; but with an abyss of eighteen hundred feet on each side of me, you may judge my seat was not pleasant. Nevertheless, I contrived to advance in this fashion about a quarter of a mile, and I think I might have accomplished the whole distance, if I had not been stopped by a projection which it was impossible to pass. I therefore returned; but when I reached the spot where I had left my companions, they had all disappeared; and I perceived, by their footprints on the snow, that they were descending the mountain. Despairing of success, they had renounced the enterprise.

It was now four o'clock, and there was not much more daylight: I hesitated what to do. Should I follow them?the temptation was great-or should I attempt the ascent alone? Well, I decided on the latter. "Surely," said I, "this time I shall succeed! So I shouldered my sack, took my staff in my hand, and away. I had crossed the Grand Plateau and reached the Glacier de Brinva, 'when I perceived that the summit of Mont Blanc was wrapt in fog, and that it would be useless for me to attempt to reach it, not only from the danger of being lost, but because I was quite sure that unless they descried me from the valley, nobody would believe that I had accomplished the feat. I determined, therefore, to use the little daylight that remained, in seeking some spot where it would be possible to pass the night; but, after wasting an hour in the search, and finding nothing, I resolved to descend as far as I could before it was quite dark; for the recollection of the last night I had passed upon the ice frightened me. But by the time I had reached the Grand Plateau, my eyes were so dazzled by the snow, that I was nearly blind. Now we always provide ourselves with green veils for these expeditions, but at that period we were ignorant of their use. As I could not see to advance for whichever way I looked I saw nothing but large spots of blood-I sat down, and closed my eyes. In about half an hour, when I opened them, my sight was so far restored that I could venture to move forward; but by this time it was nearly dark, and I had not a moment to lose. On I went, therefore, as fast I dared; but I had not gone two hundred steps when my staff warned me to stop the snow was giving way beneath my feet--I was on the edge of the Great Crevice-there where, thirty-four years afterwards, in the expedition with Dr. Hamel, three of the guides were lost. I drew up just in time to save myself, and immediately set about searching for the little bridge of ice by which we had crossed it in the morning; but my sight began again to fail me, besides that it was growing darker every instant. I could not find it; and there was no alternative but to remain where I was, with the prospect of passing such another dreadful night as that the horrors of which I have already described. But I was now two thousand feet higher than I was then, and the cold was proportionably more intense; whilst snow, so hard that it was like little pellets of ice, fell without ceasing, and seemed to freeze the blood in my veins. I felt neither hunger nor thirst, but I was dreadfully sick; and the pains in the head, from which I had suffered in the first instance, returned with double violence. Well, I spread my sack upon the snow, and covered my face with my handkerchief, and I sat down to pass the night on the edge of the Great Crevice. But I

was no sooner seated, than a dreadful heaviness overcame me; lugubrious thoughts, images more fearful than death itself, took possession of my mind; whilst the desire to sleep was so overpowering, that efforts almost more than human were required to resist it. But I understood too well the signification of these symptoms. Death was standing at my elbow-I had only to close my eyes, and his hand was upon me.

Below me ten thousand feet below me-I could discern the lights in the valley, shining from the windows where my friends were warm in their beds or cheerful by their fire-sides! "Ah!" thought I, "as they draw the coverlid round their ears, or lay another log on the hearth, are there any amongst them that think of poor Jacques Balmat ?" And I thought of the comrades who had left me, who by this time must have got below the region of eternal ice and snow; and even the Bec-à-l'Oiseau, the bare mountain side, seemed paradise compared to where I was.

By and by, in the short intervals of silence that ensued between the cracking of the glaciers and the thundering of the avalanches, I distinguished the barking of a dog at Courmayer. It is strange how the familiar sound cheered me; it was earthly, and seemed to be a link betwixt me and the creatures that were living and breathing so far below me. Towards midnight the dog ceased to bark, and the dreadful unearthly silence again surrounded me-that death-like silence which betokened that no life was near. Not the smallest reptile, not the most minute insect, not the humblest plant that clings to the bare rock, can sustain its being in those regions of eternal frost. True, there was the cracking of the glaciers, and the roaring of the avalanches; but those were sounds more fearful than the silence they interrupted. It was the voice of the mountain crying aloud, and I alone, amongst all living things, was there to hear it.

Well, time passes; and, at length, towards two o'clock, there appeared a streak of light in the horizon. God be praised!--but when I looked towards the summit of the mountain, I saw it was enveloped in fog, and that once more my labour had been lost. There was nothing more to be done; so I returned to the valley, disappointed but not discouraged; for my faith was yet strong that I should succeed at last. My wife would have given me something to eat, but I felt more need of sleep than food; so I laid myself down in the barn, and slept on the hay, for four-and-twenty hours without waking.

After this, three weeks elapsed without bringing a single morning that invited another attempt. At length, on the 8th of August, when I got out of my bed, and looked, as I daily did, towards the summit of the mountain, I saw the hour I had been waiting for was come; so I dressed myself, and hastened to the house of Dr. Paccard, who had expressed a desire to be the companion of my next ascent.

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Well, doctor," said I, "the time is come--how do you feel? Do you think you can brave it?—the cold, the snow, the precipices, the night you will have to pass on the mountain?" "I can brave any thing with you, Balmat," said he. "Good," said I; "then let us away." But as he stepped off his threshold, I believe his heart failed him. " Balmat," said he, “hadn't we better take a couple more guides?" Not one," answered I. "You may go with me if you like; if not, I go alone." "Well," said he, after a moment's reflection-"well, Balmat, I'll trust to you.' As we walked along, he tried to strike up a tune, but his voice quavered, and he could make nothing of it; the poor doctor wouldn't have been sorry to be off the bargain, I believe, but his pride wouldn't let him; so he persevered. I had intended that nobody should know of our project except our wives; but having to call on a neighbour to buy some syrup to put into our water-for I had found both wine and brandy rather injurious than beneficial on my late expeditions-whether it was from

the doctor's manner, or what, I don't know, but seeing she suspected us, I thought it better to put her in our confidence. So I told her where we were going, and desired her, at nine o'clock on the following morning, to look for us on the Dôme du Gôuter; for if all things went well, I hoped to be there by that hour.

Every thing being arranged, and having taken leave of our wives, at five o'clock in the afternoon we started, quitting the village by different routes to avoid awakening any suspicion of our intentions; and that night we passed on the summit of La Côte, between the glaciers of Bossons and of Taconnay. I had brought a blanket with me, in which I wrapped Paccard, so that he passed a tolerable night; and at two o'clock, on the appearance of the first white gleam in the horizon, I awoke him, and we started.

The sun rose clear and brilliant-no fogs, no clouds; the summit of the old mountain shone white in his beams. "Ah," thought I, "the day is come at last!" The doctor's first trial was at the glacier of Taconnay. I saw him turn pale at the sight of the immense clefts and crevices which he had to cross on narrow bridges of ice that cracked beneath our feet, and which, had they given way, would have carried us with them into unfathomable abysses which no eye could penetrate. However, he got better as we advanced; but when we had passed the Grands-Mulets, and I showed him where I had passed the first night, his heart quaked again. I did all I could to encourage him; but, unfortunately, the wind rose, and not only, by a sudden gust, carried off the doctor's cap into Piedmont, but obliged us for some time to lie down flat on our faces to avoid going after it, whilst we were in momentary danger of being buried beneath the immense masses of snow, as big as houses, that it tore up from the mountain and whirled over our heads. The doctor was discouraged; but as it was now near the hour I had desired the shopkeeper to look for us, I was eager to get on as soon as the wind was a little abated. But all I could obtain of him was to follow me on all-fours; and thus we at last reached the Dôme du Gôuter, whence, by the aid of my glass, I could distinguish our friends in the valley looking out for us.

Still, our work was not done; and, when I entreated the doctor to move on, he positively refused to advance a step farther. After using every persuasion I could, and exhausting my eloquence in vain, I determined, though unwillingly, to leave him where he was, and go forward alone. So, giving him the bottle, and entreating him to keep himself in constant motion till my return, I started. The road was, on the whole, less difficult and perilous than I had expected to find it, but at every step I took I found the difficulty of breathing increased. I felt as if I had no lungs, and was obliged to stop every minute to recover myself. Presently I bethought myself of folding my handkerchief like a cravat, and tying it over my mouth, and this contrivance gave me some relief. In the mean time, the intensity of the cold rapidly augmented; and as I did not advance at the rate of more than a quarter of a mile an hour, I was almost numbed into insensibility. Still, with my head bent forwards to screen my face from the wind, I advanced little by little, till at length I found myself on a summit. I lifted my head and cast my eyes around; it was the summit-I was on the top of Mont-Blanc! I scarcely dared to believe it, and I looked in every direction, trembling lest I should have perceived some point yet above me: but no! there was nothing-the great feat was accomplished. There I stood, where not even the eagle or the chamois had stood before me: alone and unassisted I had done it; I was the statue of that great pedestal-the king of Mont-Blanc; and, when I turned towards the valley, I beheld my subjects at my feet. There they were, every human being, old and young, male and female, with upturned faces, waving ther handkerchiefs and their hats; and although I could

not hear their shouts, my heart felt them, and I was repaid for all my fatigue and sufferings.

However, as soon as the first moment of exultation and triumph was over, I began to think of my poor doctor; and, not daring to stay longer away from him, I descended with all the speed I could, calling aloud as I approached the spot where I had left him. But there was no answer; and, by and by, I descried him, rolled into a ball like a cat, and lying perfectly motionless. I clapped him on the shoulder, and it was a relief to me when he raised his head, for I was afraid the cold had quite seized him. 46 I have done the deed!" said I; "I have been at the top of Mont-Blanc!" "Where can I lie down and go to sleep?" said he. "Pooh!" said I, "you came here to accompany me to the summit of the mountain. The thing is possible; I have done it, and you shall do it too. So I dragged him up, and got him upon his feet; but he seemed quite stupid, and perfectly indifferent whether he went one way or the other. However, I pushed him and dragged him forward, till at last the exercise I forced him to use restored a little circulation, and he recovered somewhat from his stupor; and, somehow or other, I contrived to get him to the top of the mountain, where I was bent on going again myself, my apprehensions about him having hurried me down the first time before I had seen as much as I desired. Over our heads the sun shone bright, but the blue of the heavens was so deep that we could distinguish a great many stars, whilst beneath our feet all was ice and snow. We could have counted four hundred glaciers glittering in the sunbeams. The mountains of Dauphiné and the Tyrol; Switzerland, with her innumerable lakes; Piedmont, Lombardy, Italy all were spread out before us. Paccard saw nothing; I described to him the glorious view, but he couldn't listen. For my part, I had ceased to suffer; the fatigue, the cold, all were forgotten. I was scarcely sensible of the difficulty I had in drawing my breath, which a little while before had nearly made me renounce my enterprise oa the very eve of success.

However, it was time to think of descending: I waved my hat once more to my friends in the valley, and taking Paccard under the arm, I put him in motion. How I got him along, I scarcely know; for he seemed to have lost all capability of exertion, and all power of voluntary motion. I dragged and pushed him in the good places, and carried him on my back in the bad; whilst every two minutes he stopped, declaring that no power on earth should make him go a step further. But I urged him on, not by persuasion-he was deaf to every thing I could say--but by force; and at length, by eleven o'clock, we set our feet on solid ground--we were below the ice. You may judge the relief it was: we had already been one hour in complete darkness.

"Now," said I to the doctor, "you may stop; here we will pass the night; but when I came to wrap him in the blanket, I found he had lost the use of his hands, a circumstance to which he was perfectly indifferent: all he asked was to be allowed to go to sleep. One of mine was in the same condition, so that we had but one hand fit for service between us. However, by the aid of that one, I recovered the others, rubbing them vigorously with snow, till the circulation was restored. Then, after making such a supper as we could, we stretched ourselves close to each other, and went to sleep.

About six o'clock the next morning, the doctor woke me. "Balmat," said he, "it's very odd-I hear the birds singing, and it's quite dark." "Dark!" said I, "open your eyes and look about; it's broad daylight." "I don't think I can open them," said he, "for I see nothing." I looked at him: his eyes were as wide open as he could stare. He was perfectly blind.

However, I got him down the hill, and took him to his home; and then, knowing what anxiety my wife would be suffering, I hastened to mine. When I looked in the

glass, I should not have known myself: my eyes were | Saussure in his ascent, and he had the gratification of acred, my face black, my lips blue; whenever I smiled or complishing the object he had so long desired." yawned, the blood spirted out from my cheeks and lips; and for a long time afterwards I could only see in the twilight. But that was all nothing--I had ascended Mont-Blanc! The poor doctor recovered his sight after a while, but he was never tempted to repeat the expedition. The following year I accompanied Monsieur de

[We think our readers will agree with us, that there are few instances on record of a courage and perseverance more remarkable than those displayed in the simple narrative of Jacques Balmat, the Christopher Columbus of Mont-Blanc.]

M. LEONARD'S INTELLIGENT DOGS.

WHAT We had heard and seen of the feats of trained brutes, from the "sapient pig" to the "learned horse" lately introduced at court, excited very little curiosity to witness the performances of a couple of clever dogs lately brought to this country by their trainer, M. Leonard, notwithstanding that they had been deemed worthy the attention of the Zoological Society. We suffered our selves to be persuaded, however, to accept an invitation from M. Leonard to a private exhibition of the accomplishments of his canine pupils, who are now performing publicly at the Lowther Rooms, Strand. Instead of the animals manifesting only a dread of the lash by their servile obedience and mechanical manner of going through their tricks, these dogs evince a lively docility and aptitude in the doing of their tasks, implying delight and eagerness to please their master, and precluding all idea of suffering and coercion.

M. Leonard attributes to animals the possession of reflection, memory, and comparison; and certainly the intelligent creatures he has educated, give proofs of the exercise of those faculties. They are a brace of fine pointers one of the Spanish breed, named Philax, the other of the French breed, called Braque. Both are sagacious brutes; but Braque, the lesser and leaner of the two, is the quicker and more clever; he has been under tuition nearly three years-Philax little more than half the time.

M. Leonard opened a door and showed the two dogs crouched beside their food, waiting his permission to eat; but before taking their meal, they went through their lessons. He began by showing the perfect control under which he holds them. They rise up and lie down, run and play, and assume various postures at his command. One will take a bit of meat in his mouth, and give it up to the other; and in no instance did they swallow the morsels that they fetched and carried, without permission. Thus much for their docility-of itself a curious exhibition. Now for their intelligence. M. Leonard, first calling the attention of his dogs to what he is going to do, throws on the floor several bits of bread, calling each bit by a number, but not in numerical order; and the dogs fetch any particular piece indicated by calling for the number assigned to it, though some of the company had forgotten to which pieces the numbers belonged. A few cards of different hues were thrown down, and the dogs picked up any colour called for; and on being shown a glove, or any thing of the colour desired, they fetched the card of that hue; so when shown any article, as a glove, a box, or a piece of paper, they would pick up its like from the floor, and take it to the person pointed out. They not only find any letter or numeral called for, but show a knowledge of spelling and arithmetic: thus the letters forming the name of Rachel were laid on the ground out of their proper order, and M. Leonard, pronouncing several times the word "Rachel," the dogs brought the letters in their right sequence; proving their knowledge of the sounds of the alphabet in combination as well as separately. So with the figures; if "five added to two" were called for, they brought the number seven; if "nine less five," the number four, and so on. As a climax to the whole, Braque plays a game of domi

noes with any one of the company, with as much gravity and skill as an old Frenchman in a café: the dominoes are set up on edge before him, and he picks up in his mouth the proper numbers in succession, not unfrequently beating his adversary. If a wrong one is played, he whines and barks; and also when he is himself unable to play. The dogs made some mistakes in the course of the performance, but they always rectified the error themselves. M. Leonard uses no threats, and speaks in a quiet tone, but distinctly-repeating his command two or three times, to ensure attention and impress their memory; he rewards their promptitude by clapping his hands, and patting them; and reproves any inattention or blunder by a box on the ear, or a few smart slaps on the hindquarters.

M. Leonard has other dogs in training, and is writing a treatise on the subject, which will be a curious addition to natual history. The intelligence shown by the sheepdog is no less extraordinary, though developed in a different way; indeed, the operations of what we call the "instinct of brutes," are such as to challenge a more enlightened investigation of their intellectual powers than has yet been entered upon.-Spectator.

GOD'S-ACRE.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground, "God's-Acre!" It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

God's-Acre! Yes: that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown
The seed that they have garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
At the great harvest when the Archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in perpetual bloom,
In the fair gardens of the second birth,
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow!
This is the field and Acre of our God,

This is the place where human harvests grow.
Green Gate of Paradise! let in the sun!

Those fields Elysian, where bright rivers run,
Unclose thy portals, that we may behold
And waving harvests bend like seas of gold.

Democratic Review.