would be, to him, an insupportable burthen; his youth is passed in disputes, agitation, and discontent of every kind. Hated, calumniated, turned into ridicule, he finishes by throwing himself into bad company, and there he fixes, because it is only there that he finds sycophants and flatterers. He becomes factious, wicked, and a misanthrope; he grows old without attachment, without friends, without heartfelt interest, without consideration or respect; a victim of that frightful vice, the consequences of which are so fatal, and which caused even the angels to fall.

extraordinary talents, it is found in high places, it is the cause of many public calamities; yet, at the same time, of many splendid actions. In order to be acquainted with all its misery and deformity, we must behold it in the ordinary situations of life: it has then no illusion to ennoble it, and it becomes as puerile as it is hateful. When it aspires to the conquest of the world, it may appear imposing; but how stupid and hateful does it appear in society; where a person wishes to shine, not by wit, talents, or virtuous actions, but by horses, carriages, clothes, shawls, &c. &c.; who renders himself insufferable by his pre- There is another species of pride, or, tensions, his susceptibility, arrogance, and rather, self-love, carried to a great extent, importance attached to trifles; by gossip which the world often confounds with vir ings, bickerings, distur! ances, and dis- tue, because its result is almost the same. putes, which are the inevitable result of It is that desire of shining, not by trifles, such things. Pride corrupts alike the heart but by the performance of good actions, or and understanding; it renders all our judg- the possession of great talents, and which ments false. Pride only esteems its ad- aspire only to deserved success. This noble mirers; it despises all knowledge and ta- kind of self-love gives ardour to labour, lents, as well as all qualities, not belonging and aims at the result with perseverance, to itself. It renders a person blind to him- the attainment of the empire over ourselves, self as to others, making him not only in- which makes us triumph over every peurile sensible to his own faults, but often causes inclination, and even over those passions him to exaggerate them into virtues, and to which might keep us from the end to which deny the worst injuries he inflicts, because we wish to attain. It is this that has often he does not feel them himself; he becomes, caused a brilliant fortune to be employed necessarily, envious, and a stranger to the to the most worthy purposes; but in this pleasure of admiring another; he is, how-case, if, at first, we are only guided by vaever, sufficiently punished by the secret vexation that the success of others gives to his heart. It is impossible for a proud man to be grateful; he thinks every favour is his due; and, moreover, that great benefits

nity, we may be said, in the end, to have no other motive than pure benevolence.— Generous men are always humane; a great mind, therefore, often becomes added to a good heart.—Ibid.

DISGUISE AND NO DISGUISE; A TALE.
(Concluded from Page 21.)

WHILST the Chevalier remained absorbed in thought, and in silent extacy at the prospect that opened before him, Mathilda, far from manifesting the least reseutment, exulted at the ingenuity of her sister's conception; and it being a settled point between them that it now rested with Adolphus alone to bring his affairs to a happy conclusion, they earnestly commenced a course of lectures on the countenance and behaviour he was to assume, the better to be mistaken for a female.

In fact, the part he was preparing to act, was attended with no small difficulties; for he would have at once to be thought a woman, and to make himself agreeable as a man. However, determined to avail himself of the preliminaries which Caroline had so skilfully adjusted, he departed the very same evening, with no other attendant than Mathilda's confidential old servant, his own not being able to ride post as a courier.

Caroline was too well acquainted with

the ardent disposition of Adolphus, to ques-, tion bis acquiescence to her plan the moment she should make it known to him; a communication which she deemed it advisable to postpone, till the expected invitation arrived; and, accordingly, no sooner received the Baroness's letter, than, before the above stated conference taking place, she sent word to her friend, that Mathilda received her invitation with thanks, and would set off as soon as she received the clothes she had bespoke of a fashionable tailor, as she delighted in the idea of making the excursion, and of being treated as a gentleman by a fair lady.

that we are by ourselves."—" I can never
forget whom I am speaking to."—" Nei-
ther can I; and I verily believe, that, in
order to be quits with you, I must apply
to my brother, who may easily be pre-
vailed upon to do justice to the merits of
Mathilda de Rabar. Let me advise you,
by-the-bye, to warn your servant to be
more on his guard; for I have heard him,
occasionally, calling you Madame (which
the good old fellow had really done through
absence, thinking of his mistress); which
might be conducive to the detection of a
secret, that I have hitherto held sacred."—
"From what I know of your brother, I
would rejoice if he were to pay his ad-
dresses to Mathilda."" And from the
knowledge I have of that amiable girl my-
self, it would make me happy to-
Here they were interrupted by the arrival
of a gamekeeper from a neighbouring no-
bleman, with the intelligence that the
Count d'lllois was engaged in a shooting
and a hunting party that would keep him
abroad for a few days, and that he accord-

The Chevalier de Rabar being announced, the Baroness came to meet him, and, with great presence of mind, stretched out her hand, which he was going respectfully to kiss, when recollecting, on a sudden, the lessons he had received, he folded her in his arms with all the familiarity of a female friend. Whether the salute was quite in character, the Baroness was at a loss to determine; but the Count entering the apart ment immediately after, the graceful bowingly wished his valet, with proper articles of the supposed Mathilda made it appear, that, when required, she was not forgetful of what she owed to herself, or of the part she was performing.

of wearing apparel, and a groom, with a couple of hunters, to go and meet him.

The Chevalier was too anxious to resume a conversation which he thought might lead, perhaps, to a discovery of the Baroness's real sentiments, not to seize the first opportunity. He could never believe that she intended to persevere in a resolution which he ascribed to a former disappointment in love: if she had loved once, it proved her not being destitute of a sensiblé heart; and, therefore, when he should find her in a proper mood, he might venture a declaration with some hopes of it being listened to. Hazardous as the attempt must be, yet it must be made; besides, a formal denial could hardly cause greater pangs than the state of suspense and uncertainty in which he seemed condemned to

If the situation of the Chevalier was truly novel, that of the Baroness was not much less so. "The compliments which you lavish upon me, in the presence of my brother," would she often say to the Chevalier, “I dare not find amiss. I know from what motive they are uttered: but I must tell you, candidly, that I deem them quite out of character when repeated in his absence. If the truth were known, it might be imagined, they are reflections on my want of those qualifications which you pretend to praise."-"But if they were spoken from my heart," said the other, in reply, "who would presume to put an opposite construction on my meaning "live. Such were the thoughts that agitated "Forbear, my lovely friend, lest I should doubt your sincerity. Allow me to indulge a partiality which must have originated from my intimacy with your sister, and which, I must own, I felt the first sight of you alone would have created. But, I beg of you, once more, forbear compliments."—"They are your due; and I will maintain it at my peril."-" You forget now

the unhappy lover's mind; but, notwithstanding his impatience, he imagined it would be advisable, previously to a nego ciation of so much importance, to collect his ideas; to effect which, he betook himself to the park, where he sought a solitary walk, that led to a pavilion. He, to his utmost surprise, though not utter disappointment, there found the Baroness, who

did not appear in a more quiet situation of
mind than himself. They both remained
silent for some moments; but the Chevalier
at length began apologizing for his intru-
sion: "most unintentionally, Madame," ||
added he, in a tremulous voice, "have I
injured the happy mortal who was the ob-
ject of your solitary cogitations, though
ever so envious of his lot."-"Those
words," returned Clementina," speak you
to be totally unacquainted with my disposi.
tion."-"Am I to infer that indifference?"
-"No, indeed, I am far from being in-
different and unfeeling; Caroline knows,
and can tell you that I am not. My sincere
friendship for her, and what I feel for you."
-“Oh! that I were certain—"-"Your"
doubts wrong me: yet, perhaps, I have, in
some respect, given rise to them myself.
You, most likely, would have felt grievously
offended, if I had informed my brother
who you really are. In justice to him, I
ought to have done so before now.
I con-
fess," continued she, with a faint smile, "it
would be cruel to divest you of a dress so
uncommonly becoming; but am I not
equally culpable for exposing the peace of

many of my female friends, who cannot
but be smitten at the sight of the most cap-
tivating young man, in appearance only,
that ever was seen."—"What! do you be
lieve that such au impression could have
taken place?"-"I will not protest but I
might have been caught myself in the
snare, had I not been apprized that—"
"I shall abide by the insinuation.”—
"And resume your real character."—" So
I will."-"Now, then, I shall be at full
liberty to embrace my friend, my beloved
Caroline's-"-" Brother," interrupted
he, kneeling before her, “who adores you.
If a single glance at your image has been
capable of producing such an impression,
you may judge of the effect of a personal
acquaintance."

The Chevalier said much more, which I
need not repeat. All who have either
loved, or been loved, will be qualified to
fill up the chasm.

An explanation of Caroline's contrivance naturally took place; and the Baroness easily forgave the trick which made her a happy wife.

the s

שם

DESCRIPTION OF THE GLACIERS IN THE ALPS.

from the tops of the neighbouring moun-
tains into the bottom of the valley, where
they collect, as in a basin, in very compact
beds, several hundred feet thick. It may
easily be conceived, that a similar mass
cannot possibly get thawed thoroughly
during the summer; so that, at the return
of winter, it has assumed the aspect of a
heap of frozen snow, composed of small
grains, which are united together, and in-

THE glaciers are sometimes, very im. properly, denominated mountains of ice. Those enormous masses are amongst the most remarkable objects in the Alps.Whatever may be the figure or situation of the glaciers, they all, without exception, originate in a huge heap of snow, mixed with water; which, being frozen during the winter, does not entirely melt in summer-time, and thus continues till the return of the winter season. It is exclusively increased in volume, by means of the water the most elevated vallies of the mountains that all the glaciers have been formed; those even the ramifications whereof descend into the most fertile vallies. Very few are to be seen in the direction from east to west; and all are surrounded by lofty mountains, whose shade considerably weakens the effect of the sun during the three summer months. For an interval of nine months the snows will accumulate in those elevated regions. Lavanges of snow, of an enormous weight, incessantly fall

filtering, and penetrating from the surface
into the interior of the mass.

PROGRESSIVE MOTION OF THE GLA-
CIERS TOWARDS THE LOWER VALLIES.—
There is no valley throughout the Alps
but the soil of which is in a slope. Thus,
when the upper part of a vale is occupied
by a glacier, whose bulk and extent in-
crease annually, in proportion to the ad-
ditional cold which it occasions itself; from
such a state of things, the result must, un-
avoidably, be a strong pression of ice to-

wards the lower part of the vale, which is the only part that opposes no resistance. During the hot season, it is on the sides of the glaciers, and on their inferior surface, which lays on the mountain, that the largest quantity of ice will melt; the streams produced by the thaw form extensive vaults; the blocks of ice that are stopped by the angles of those vaults, are finally carried off by the waters collected at their basis; and the air, confined in the cavities of the glacier, breaks down part of the props which support these vaults, that it may be in equilibrium with the outward air, when a change in the weight of the atmosphere happens to take place. The combination of those circumstances lessens the number of the points of contact, and the resistance of the friction. The impulsive power of the superior part, overcomes the efforts which still impede its action, and the whole mass is carried forward. In fine, when the ice has completely filled up the upper valley, it is forcibly brought towards the defile, where it finds an issue, and from thence, by degrees, into the fertile valley, where a higher degree of heat, checks, in some measure, its further progress.

INCREASE AND DIMINUTION OF THE GLACIERS.-The glaciers will sometimes decrease for several consecutive years; that is to say, the lower extremity of the glacier, situated in the fertile part of the valley, loses such a quantity of ice in consequence of the thaw which takes place in summer, that it leaves part of the ground it occupied, whenever the mass is not brought sufficiently forward to replace that loss. On the other hand, there are years in which they increase, and descend further into the valley, and thus cover cultivated hills and meadows. However, there is nothing regular in those occurrences that depend entirely on the duration and severity of the winteron the quantity of the snow-and on the temperature of the summer. It is generally in the spring that the glaciers increase; and when, during the course of one year, they have advanced much farther than usual in the interior of a valley, they are commonly seen to diminish for several years successively. It is probable that the extraordinary increase hath cleared the upper valley, so that several years are required before it is entirely obstructed again, and

that new heaps of ice have produced the necessary degree of pression for the action to be felt at the lower extremity.

NATURE OF THE SURFACE.-The surface and figure of the glaciers are determined by the kind of ground on which, they rest. In such vallies as are level, and very little sloping, they are also level, and show but few chinks. On the reverse, when they descend along a rapid slope, and on a very uneven ground, their surface is covered with crevices and eminences from fifty to one hundred feet high, the aspect of which bears a resemblance to the waves of the sea. If the slope be upwards of thirty or forty degrees, the beds of ice will break, move, accumulate, and assume the most diversified and fantastic figures. The surface of a glacier is more or less intersected with chinks, some of which are often several feet wide, and above one hundred feet deep. The extreme cold, the sudden change in the temperature of the air, and a sloping ground, are the principal causes of those chinks; the bottom whereof is of a dark-blue colour, and the borders, angles, and points, of the finest light green. During the winter season, profound silence reigns along the glaciers; but as soon as the air begins to grow warm, and as long as the summer lasts, from time to time a tremendous roaring is heard, attended with dreadful shakes, which cause the whole mountain to tremble; whenever a crevice is formed, it is with a roaring like that of thunder. When those kinds of detonations are heard several times in the course of a day, they are to be considered as the fore runners of a change in the weather. The crevices are formed, and vary, not only every day, but at every hour, which occa sions the glaciers being so dangerous for travellers.

WINDS OF THE GLACIERS, TORRENTS, WELLS.-This phenomenon evinces the agitation undergone by the air confined beneath the glaciers, and inside of their inward cavities. The sudden change in the atmosphere will sometimes occasion to issue from the crevices in the glaciers, currents of air insufferably cold, which carry away with them an icy dust, which they scatter afar like snow. Inside of the glaciers is heard, from all parts, the loud mur. "muring of the streams that work their way

beneath the ice. When these waters cannot find an issue, they will often accumu. late in so large a quantity, that they finally break through the walls that oppose and check them, and, on a sudden, a raging torrent is seen to rush from a wide crevice. Sometimes wells, of a circular form, are also met with, vertically dug out of the glacier, and filled to the brim with water. These wells are produced by some huge stone, which, being made hot by the sun, melts the ice around, and continues to penetrate farther into the interior of the glacier. Travellers sometimes are amused in forcing their sticks to the bottom of these said wells, to have the pleasure of seeing them rise again to the surface.

and of pieces several inches long and thick, full of hollows and elevations; the shape or figure of those pieces is generally crooked and whimsical; and they stick so close to one another that although they cannot be detached from the main mass without several being broke, yet they are susceptible of a kind of motion similar to that of the articulation of a limb. The cause of this extraordinary conformation is the result of the action of the air which circulates, and by means of its dilatation forms little bubbles of various figures, which, in their turn, determine that which each particle of ice assumes, and retains, even when it increases in bulk, in proportion as the water contained in the snow freezes. Those surfaces that are much inclined, the transversal cuts, the borders, points, and crevices along which the water can stream freely, shew a solid ice, of a light green colour, and very transparent. In the vicinity of the heaps of gravel and of sand that hem the glaciers, the lower beds are com⚫ posed of very dark blue ice.

STONES ON THE SURFACE, AND AT THE FOOT OF THE GLACIERS.-There are many glaciers, the surface of which is of a dirty, blackish colour, which proceeds from stones that are decomposed, and reduced to a kind of muddy earth; for there always is, both in the ice and on the surface even of the glaciers, a multiplicity of fragments of rocks, which the hurricanes and the lavanges have torn from the tops of the most elevated mountains. The stones, in the end, always form, on the borders, and at the base of the glaciers, hills sometimes one hundred feet high. The inferior extremity of the glacier pushes forward that kind of dam. Sometimes in the centre of a glacier, and in the most elevated part, are seen heaps of stones in the shape of tombs, and disposed in parallel lines of consider-considerably swoln break through the ice, able height and length. Sometimes also is seen to rise on the surface of a glacier a pyramid of ice, of a regular figure, and surmounted by a huge stone block.

VAULTS OF ICE.-The vaults of ice which are observed at the bottom of the glaciers, and from which a torrent is seen to issue, are always formed in the lowest part, where all the waters meet subsequently to the ice being melted. In winter those vaults lay concealed, being obstructed by the ice and snow; the stream that issues from them is remarkably small; but, in the spring and summer, the waters being

when vaults are formed one hundred feet high, and from fifty to eighty wide, the figure of which is subject to undergo many changes.

NATURE OF THE ICE OF THE Glaci- TORRENTS ISSUING FROM THE GLAERS.-When, you see a glacier that has CIERS.-The water of the glaciers is of a neither crevices, points, or cutting edges, whitish blue, and the torrents that issue you are inclined to think it is only a heap from them retain that colour for several of snow; whereas, mountains of snow, co-leagues, unless some other stream alter it vered over with a thin coat of shining ice, by mixing with them. That colour, which are frequently mistaken for real glaciers. is peculiar to them, proceeds from their Glaciers can only be known by the chinks always carrying numerous particles of and sharp angles, formed by those masses rocks excessively attenuated by friction. that bear such a resemblance to snow; yet they may be distinguished at some leagues' distance, by the green or blue colour of their crevices and of their cuts. Their ice is not compact, like that of the rivers and lakes in winter; it is composed of grains

NUMBER AND EXTENT OF THE GLACIERS.-Throughout the whole chain of the Alps, from Mont Blanc to the frontiers of Tyrol, they reckon about four hundred glaciers, a very small number of which are only one league in length, whereas a